


thy love, thy live

by OliverLewty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, God is a dick, Lucifer Redemption, Mother Complex, POV Dean Winchester, POV Lucifer, POV Michael, Protective Lucifer, alternative, chuck needs a kick to the ass, different POVs, give the angels a family dammit, mother of angels, the angels have a mother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 22:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19305292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OliverLewty/pseuds/OliverLewty
Summary: In a world where the angels have more than just God, things go a little bit differently.





	thy love, thy live

 

Michael made his decision when the air around Heaven is heavy, full of grief and despair. It flows through the Heavenly Host like smog.  He had hope centuries ago, back when their Father still roamed the haven, full of love. But, their Father is gone, hidden away from their sight and the emotions bursting through the plane are too much for him to deal with anymore. He is a good son, a good commander for Battle and Strategy. He is not a good Leader in the way the Angel's need.

 

 

He thinks of times long past, Angel's flying free and full of happiness. The love of their family humming in the back of their heads, tugging at their grace and mingling amongst each other. His grace swirled inside of him like a hurricane, his emotions flickering all over the place.

 

 

He stopped. Taking a breath, he calmed himself down. Then he looked up at the large, overbearing glacier-blue archway he stood under.  The chimes that dangled from the roof, swayed with the wind and he felt peace fill his grace.

 

 

 _She would like it._ He thought to himself, his mood slipping before he pulled it back in tightly. He wondered if what he was about to do was the right thing before pushing that thought away quickly. He needs help, he can admit that to himself. He is not suited to Leading, the few centuries past have already stretched him thin and he is not sure he would survive any more, being tugged in one direction then the next with no break. _It will be fine_. He told himself and took another sharp breath.

 

 

He walked into the Hall, nerves and excitement burning in his body as he stepped closer to the centre. The beautiful stained glass - Stars, Galaxy's, twirling in tandem together are four figures above several worlds, fledglings with a female figure reading, baby Archangels and seraph's- allowed light into the Hall. More chimes ring around the room, chiming together to make soft song full of love and happiness.

 

 

He felt his eyes water and heart squeeze as the feeling of safety settled in his body, down to his very being. The Hall emulated her very being, a celestial who gave herself to anything with no thoughts of being repaid, her love given freely to those who needed it, those lost and lonely.

 

 

 _She is beautiful_. He dared not to say aloud, fearing to break the silence that lingers in the air.  But he knows it is the truth, even encased in crystal she still managed to Shine.

 

 

The Mother. His Mother, a Shepherd, a Guide, an Advisor, The First Seer. Until their Father Locked her into her own Hell. That day, Michael thought, is the day that everything went plunging into dark days with no hope nor love.

 

 

He spotted her staff - she called it a _Khakkhara,_ a chime like staff - held in her hands, the golden metallic looking staff made her figure look tiny as it towered over her. She was locked in a sincere expression, with her eyes closed and her large wings -made of stars and galaxies, twinned together as if someone had ripped a bit of the sky and made it into wings - spanned to the ceiling and out. Her dress is touching the floor, sprawled across her bare feet and pooled around her. Crimson hair in half a ponytail and half down with bangs framing her face, braids in uneven spots everywhere and the silver crown-headband she wore has tilted slightly forward and sats at an odd angle from where it normally rested.

 

 

It was so long ago, but he remembered when he was a fledgling sitting on her lap. His fingers in her long hair, twisting, tugging and braiding her hair when it was just them. Father, Mother and Auntie. Death in the background like the shadow he was to even _Immortal_ beings. The braids she still has is from the fledglings of back _then_ , before she was locked away. Who, by now will either be dead or fully grown.

 

 

“Mother,” he greeted, whispering as he broke the silence. He moved forward and placed his hand on the crystal as his grace snapped at the prison that has kept him from his Mother for so long.

 

 

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did so. “Thy Shepherd, thy Guide.” He rumbled. “Keeper of Secrets and Mother to all, asleep ‘thy have been in eternal slumber, a prison to one who has played her role with no doubt. You have been sentenced unfairly and so, you are granted allowance to walk amongst your Children once more. So I shall say so shall it be done, awake, your dues have been paid! Awaken thy Mother!”

 

 

He could feel the crystal vibrate underneath his hand, cracking quicker and quicker with each pulse of grace he pushed into it with a frenzy he hasn’t felt in a long time. The Host is in his ears, asking questions, some with fear and others trembling with excitement. He gives the crystal one last pulse with his grace and it cracks and breaks. The crystal crumbles into dust and fell harmlessly to the marble floor.

 

 

He stood straight, exhausted but thrilled as his wing-tips tremble with barely concealed excitement. There are many emotions floating through him as he watched his Mother bring free her wings, they twist and turn every which way and flap dust off them before folding back into her pocket-time-space. She has not changed, Michael knows, but it does not change how he takes in her appearance like a grace-starved fledgling. Her eyes are still the same, brilliant green that spoke of _life, rebirth_ and _love_ that would have stolen his breath away if he needed to breath.

 

 

“Oh,”She gasped, her hand coming up to clasp at her chest. “Oh, my son!”

 

 

He is moving before he can think, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She smelt of _Earth_ , _Nest_ and _dust._ He wrinkled his nose at the last smell, rubbing his check against her hair. The braids scratched at his face but he cared little for the feeling only that she was _here._

 

 

 _“_ Welcome Home,” He croaked, his throat tight with emotions as he held her close. “Mother.”

 

 

“I’m back, sweetheart.” She cooed, folding them in her wings. Her staff position next to them on its own as she wrapped him up in a hug. He raised his own wings in greeting as they intertwined together. The soft, icy-blue of his own to her dark galaxy-purple minginling to make something new. “Oh dear, your grace is in horrible condition! Michael, what did I saw about wing-care?”

 

 

Michael smiled, eyes lighting up as he pulled back enough to look her in the eyes but hold her close. “Wings are our Pride, for them to tarnish is to bring shame to our duties and titles. I know, Mother. I was just rather busy with everything else these past few centuries.”

 

 

Mother raised a brow, amusement dripping from her like light rain. “Oh? You don't say?”

 

 

He ducked his head, feeling like a naughty fledgling before he quickly shook his head.

 

 

She hummed, looking entirely too amused at his embarrassment, which made him think of when Gabriel did the same think before he squashed that thought quickly. “Shall I sing a song for your grace?”

 

 

“Yes.” Michael said immediately, having missed feeling her grace mixing with his own. “ _Please.”_

 

 

Mother tsked, swiping her hand down his wings gently as she looked at the tears in them with interest and discomfort. . “Of course, son.” She began to hum, fingers twisting feathers around gently, pulling and tugging every so often to test his grace.

 

 

 _“_ _May you sail far to the fields of fortune.”_ He relaxed at the feeling of her grace pushing itself against his own. _Amusement_ . She sent, eyes wrinkled. _Peace. “With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet..”_

 

 

He could feel his grace pulsing in time with his Mother's voice, his brothers and sisters are clamouring in his head for answers, their excitement clear. He can also hear the pounding of feet against marble as others venture closer to the Hall.

 

 

" _And may you never need to banish misfortune.."_ Michael turned, wiping his eyes and spotted several of his siblings standing at the arch. Some of them look wide eyed, looking at the broken crystal while others can't seem to tear their eyes away from Mother. He can see hope building in their eyes and their grace, quickly followed by love. Disbelief is strong in those who had been fledglings when Mother walked free but they are also the first ones to pull themselves together compared to the older Angel's, who had been with their Mother longer and had grieved much more.

 

 

"May you find kindness in all that you meet." Michaell greeted the angels, using the old saying that Mother used to practically sing at those she met that had been eventually made into a song. He turned to face her, tears gathered in his eyes again but so full of love and happiness he could just burst. Mother smiled at them, soft and kind. It showed how happy she was to see then too, her eyes alight and burning with love.

 

 

Mother paused, twisting one of her arms free with a tug as one of the sleeves got caught in his armour. She raised her arm out towards the others with patience born to nurture all that came under her care and love to rival a million super-suns.

 

 

One of the angels gave out a loud cry before they threw themselves forward. As if that had been the sign, others began to move forward hesitantly as if unsure whether it was a dream or not.

 

 

Michael found himself buried under the arms of other angels as they clutched at Mother desperately, frantically. Some of them were crying their eyes out. Others were in shock, nestled against their brothers and sisters.

 

 

" _May there always be angels to watch over you."_ Mother hummed and he watched as she gathered as much of her children in her arms as she could and those she couldn't reach just clung to those who could. Little by little, the Angel's joined in her song, voices cracked and broken. " _To guide you each step of the way.."_

 

 

Michael felt his lips curling up into a smile, surrounded by his siblings on all sides clustered together. Their singing sometimes growing more steady while in others it kept cracking. Their Grace's mixing together and filling the Hall with emotions that brought more angels over to them.  

 

 

Heaven is filled with joy and love for the first time in centuries, Mother's voice blooming yet soothing an ache inside of then they hadn't noticed. Distantly, he noticed the back of his head is filling with others singing and crying. He can tell some of them are from Earth, even some of the Fallen have began to sing along even if somewhat faintly.

 

 

" _To guard you and keep you safe from all harm."_ She twisted her head, easily following one of the angels tugging on her braids and allowing them to herd her head. " _Loo-li, loo-li, Lai-lay.. "_

 

 

"Oh," Mother breathed, heavy and full of feeling. She is full of joy and love that Michael thought he was going to drown underneath it all. "My children. My sons, my daughters. Look at how far you've grown! How big you've all gotten! Haniel! Your wings are so big! Look at them!"

 

 

Mother gushed, reaching over to run her fingers across the ridges of the angels wings with great care.

 

 

Haniel, a gardener with medium sized earthly green wings and a large heart for those injured, flushed at her praise as his wings puffed up in obvious enjoyment. "Mother," he said, love clear in his tone. "Your kind words flatter me."

 

 

Mothers smile is soft and her eyes are full of a different kind of wonder as she stared at them all, greedily taking them in like she can't white believe they're real. Like she can't believe that she isn't dreaming, that they are real and it makes something inside of Michael shudder painfully for her.

 

 

She pressed her hands onto his shoulders with slightly difficulties due to the amount of angels clinging to her arms that followed her when she moved.  

 

 

He relaxed underneath her hands, lips quirked up into a smile. He wanted to cling to her like the others and not let go, but he pulled that thought in tight and under his control quickly before he could act on it. He knew his Mother caught him in the act as she looked at him with a knowing gleam in her eyes but did not push him.

 

 

 _Love._ She sent him, grace-to-grace. _Happiness. Freedom. Joy!_

 

 

 _Relief_. Michael sent back, before quickly pulling his head away from their grace meshed together.  He flicked his eyes over her wings, taking in the places where grace was meant to be, looking around at the ground he spotted some of the crumbled crystal is a dark purple instead of being a clear white. His grace lurched in his body, aching all over again for the agony his Mother must be in yet she made no move to pull away from those crowding her and chatting in her ear.

 

 

"Mother," he interrupted the angel who was taking, giving him an apologetic look. "Your wings are in a state, how come?"

 

 

Mothers smiled, brittle at the edges and small. "Your Father may be powerful, but all-knowing he is not. The crystallization broke off parts of my grace when it was broken. They will heal, of course but it will take time."

 

 

"How?" He asked, questions turning his head inside and out, upside and down. Feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of breaking of pieces of someone's wings.

 

 

Mother sighed, smoothing the lines on his forehead with her hand. "Your Father is allowed to make mistakes, is _going_ to make mistakes no matter how powerful he is, or will be."

 

 

"Don't misunderstand, I am still extremely angry at your Father but my children come first before that. "She continued on, as she didn't just say their _Father_ would make more mistakes.

 

 

Michael doesn't answer her, but he does stop twisting his fingers in the planting of his armour. He reached over and caught her hand and pulled her along - and the other angels still clinging - to the arch. The faint dings and chimes told him that she had picked up her _Khakkhara._ "You're here to stay?"

 

 

"Of course, my son." She grinned, squeezing his hand. "I won't leave for anything, I'm right where I want to be."

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Khakkara- A sounding Staff


End file.
